Topic : Easter Wings

Main text

Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,       Though foolishly he lost the same,             Decaying more and more,                   Till he became                         Most poore:                         With thee                   O let me rise             As larks, harmoniously,       And sing this day thy victories: Then shall the fall further the flight in me. My tender age in sorrow did beginne       And still with sicknesses and shame.             Thou didst so punish sinne,                   That I became                         Most thinne.                         With thee                   Let me combine,             And feel thy victorie:          For, if I imp my wing on thine, Affliction shall advance the flight in me.